Assassin Dynasty
by Lightning Oz
Summary: 2008, Abstergo launches their first step for a new world order. Zack(OC), who knows nothing of his deadly heritage, gets thrown in a shadow war between the Assassins&Templars after a break-in gone sour. He's forced to relive the life of Marcello Auditore& follow the shadows of his erased connection w/Abstergo&his supposedly-dead father who may be alive. (OCxOC, MarcelloxAnotherOC)
1. A for Apple

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I just finished watching the walkthroughs of _Assassin's Creed III _instead of playing it (but that's because I still don't have the game). I don't have _AC4_, so I don't know what's going to happen. I actually liked the ending from _AC3_, very twisted and pretty exciting. All you whiny haters can suck it._

**UPDATE, 12/09/2013: So, I decided to change it to Rated T, including editing some bits to make it rated T, because I kind of suspected not many people will read it if it's rated M, even though my story doesn't have very graphic sexual contents. I still think not many people will read it no matter what, though.**

**Disclaimer: I own characters not originally from the series, nothing else**

* * *

ONE – A for Apple

_Autumn, 2008  
New England_

"Mr. Romero!"

Most of the students' attention turned to the teacher, a plump middle-aged man with a beaked nose and more hair around his chin than his head. The teacher stood up from behind his desk, removed his reading glasses.

His eyes narrowed at a teen boy seated in the back of the room. The boy was about sixteen or seventeen years of age, the average ages of students in the class. He wore a flannel shirt and a dark gray zip-up sweater. The hood was over the boy's head, which was resting with his arms covering his eyes on the desk surface – he was asleep.

The teacher let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his glasses with a cloth. "Mr. Romero!" he called again.

A blonde girl seated beside him gently shoved the boy's shoulder. "Hey, wake up," she said.

Zack Romero woke up immediately, startled. You're still in class, he reminded himself. But his heart pace was still fast. Slowly, he rubbed the sleepiness off his eyes, yawning and lifting up his head off his desk.

"Here," Zack responded, still feeling groggy. He saw the teacher shaking his head slightly, obviously disappointed at the boy's behavior.

"The answer, Mr. Romero," drawled the teacher, "for my question about the movie we've been enthusiastically watching."

Half of the students snickered under their breaths.

A movie? Literature class, Zack remembered, watching an educational movie video. What movie were they watching about their lesson...?

When Zack hesitated to answer, the teacher sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll repeat the question again," he said reluctantly. Some students murmured and snickered until their teacher shushed them. "A god used a fruit to trick his captive, to gain some certain control over her will in order to stay with that god. What was the fruit mentioned just now?"

Zack frowned a little, his eyebrows bunched together.

_Control...?_

"Apple...?" he murmured to himself.

"What was that you mumbled? Speak up, Mr. Romero!"

Zack slowly exhaled through his nose, his hands balled up tightly under his arms. He didn't want another detention for snapping at the school staff or other authority...again.

"Is it an apple, sir?" Zack answered reluctantly.

His teacher scoffed under his breath as he sat back down behind his desk. "Close," he retorted, and turned to the rest of his students. "It's a pomegranate, which is also known as 'the fruit of the dead.' Hades offered Persephone a pomegranate, and she ate three seeds from it..."

A few students giggled.

"Minds out of the gutters! You didn't even laugh at it properly..."

The teacher's eyes leered over the room, checking all of his students cautiously. Then he pressed the Play button to continue the mythology video, and said, "Pay attention to the movie, people."

Ten minutes later, the bell rang. Class was dismissed.

It took Zack three minutes to get to his locker, and he was unaware that the blonde girl from his literature class was following him.

He was opening his locker when the girl tapped his left bicep. He jumped a little, startled, and twisted his body to face the girl, who was a few inches shorter than him and stood about a foot away from him. Of course he was a bit surprised – most girls at this school rarely talked to him, unless it was gossip about him being a freak, a loner – whatever came in mind.

"Sorry for sneaking up on you," the blonde girl sincerely said, and held out a 5.5 inch x 8.5 inch sketchbook. "You left this on your desk."

"Thanks..." His response trailed off because he didn't know what her name was. Actually, he didn't remember seeing her on his first day at school. Maybe she was absent during the time he was attending? Long absence, he thought.

Zack took back his sketchbook, accepting her kind gesture. Carefully, he surveyed the sketchbook, checking the front and back cover. He didn't remember taking out his sketchbook during class, but he guessed it was before he fell asleep during the movie. On the front cover was a large scribble of an upside-down script V or triangle shape with a curved line at the bottom. He didn't remember drawing that.

"I didn't look inside, if you're wondering," the girl promised. She noticed the symbol on the cover with curiosity. "What's that?"

Zack shoved his sketchbook in his messenger bag and murmured, "Nothing special."

Of course, she wasn't convinced, but she didn't push him. "Nothing special. Right. I know this is a bit late, but you're the new guy, the one that transferred here about a month ago?"

Zack nodded. "Yeah, that's me. You're in my Lit class, next desk on the left, right? I don't remember seeing you before."

"That's because my class schedule was changed," she answered, "and then I got very sick for a week. And I had to go away for my grandmother's funeral for another few weeks."

"Oh. Um..." Normally, people would apologize about someone's death, but he didn't understand why an apology would make things better. "Um, that's...unfortunate...?" he offered awkwardly.

Instead of raising an eyebrow at him in a he's-a-weirdo kind of way, she smiled and laughed. That was a nice change.

"Yeah, I guess it was unfortunate. My great-grandmother was almost one hundred and two and she knew it would happen someday, so...yeah." She pulled a loose blonde strand behind her ear. "My name's Susan, by the way..."

Before Susan could continue and offer a friendly handshake, three girls at the corner of the hallway called her name and waved at her to join them for lunch.

Susan gave Zack an apologetic smile. "I better go before they decide to kidnap me to lunch." As she walked away, she added, "I'm part of the welcoming committee. If you have any questions at all, don't afraid to ask me. And I don't blame you for sleeping in Fig's class."

Zack made a mental note of that offer. He watched her leave with her friends until they were out of his sight. He could have sworn he saw one of Susan's friends giving him a somewhat disgusted look.

After closing his locker, he followed the other students to the cafeteria.

However, Zack wasn't actually hungry. Also, he forgot his lunch money this morning, for the second time this week. Despite that, he settled at an empty round table and took out a slim book to read, his legs crossed and feet rested on another chair.

"'Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are.' Ain't that the truth?"

Zack looked up from his book.

Across from him was a sort of avenge, scrawny-looking guy, about the same age as Zack, who looked like the Asian version of Waldo—(minus the cane) red striped shirt with long sleeves pushed up to the elbows, a beanie hat, and thick, black-framed glasses.

"Alvin, what the hell are you talking about?" Zack asked, obviously confused with the quote that was said.

Alvin, the Asian Waldo, smiled and placed his lunch tray to the side. He placed a laptop in front of him. "It's a quote from _The Prince_, Z. Isn't that what you're reading there?"

Zack glanced at his book's cover. There wasn't a picture. Just the faded bold title, "The Prince", and below had the author's name, Niccolò Machiavelli. He borrowed it from his sister. It was well worn out.

"You've read this?" Zack remarked.

Alvin shook his head, opening a messy barbeque sandwich from a wrapper. "Read it somewhere online," he said. "Why are you reading it? I thought Mr. Fig assigned the class some Greek or Roman stuff."

"This is for history. Extra credit or something like that."

"Falling behind?"

"Yep."

"Lazy ass bum, you..."

He snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it."

Alvin Sato was a good friend. Zack could tolerate with him. They had been on good terms since he moved into the area. Sure, the guy could be annoying sometimes, but it was nice having company around, especially if you're still the new kid.

After glancing at the page, Zack let out a sigh and stored the book away in his backpack. "I'm barely done with the first chapter."

"Go to Sparknotes. It's your best friend, like Google," Alvin humored. "Or like me."

When he turned to his laptop, he cursed. "Piece of shit! Stupid laptop keeps lagging," he muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. "This crap is out of date. I need a new one. I heard Abstergo's laptop is pretty good, decent specs, nice price. My dad might get me for my birthday, or at least I hope so... Oh, and Darth Vader's your father and I'm getting married to Jessica Alba in a few weeks. Dude, are you even listening?"

In fact, Zack was doing the complete opposite. He was looking over at his southeast direction. About twenty yards away, next to a round tall pillar, four girls occupied a table. Susan was one of those girls and she mostly stood out to him. Her sunlight blonde hair looked natural unlike the bleach-blonde that looked badly dyed on one of her friends. The dimples were hard _not_ to notice, whenever she'd smile or laugh. Sweet and sincere, his instinct described her, and he was sure of his judgment for once.

When Susan's green eyes glanced his way, she passed him a small, soft smile. Zack, with his face feeling tingly for a moment, smiled back at her.

And then a red apple smacked the side of his head.

Zack was, of course, startled. His focus on Susan was broken, and he glared across his table at Alvin, who ate his sloppy barbecue sandwich acting innocent. "What the hell?!"

Alvin was trying not to laugh. "What, you done fantasizing yet?"

His lips formed a small scowl. He glanced at Susan, who bit her lips to contain her giggle. _Oh, great_, thought Zack, _she saw that_.

Sighing, he shook his head and twitched a slight smile. "I wasn't _fantasizing_," he said. "But that doesn't mean you had to throw an apple at me! And I'm pretty sure Jessica Alba just got married."

"Psh, I can still dream." Alvin laughed. "I thought you were hungry! You don't have any food."

Zack stared down at the apple in front of him. It landed on the table after it hit his head. The fruit was ruby red, almost like the color of blood.

_The Apple..._

Something about that thought made him feel nervous. Slowly exhaling through his nose, he carefully pushed the apple closer to his friend, and murmured, "I'm not hungry."

Alvin frowned at him. "Are you sure? I know we have P.E. after lunch, but you gotta have food in your stomach, Z."

Zack shrugged. "I don't like apples right now," he admitted.

"Aw, come on, man! Apples are good for you. They keep the doctors away or something like that. They start with the letter A – like my name and the grades you need to get. What are you gonna do, steal somebody's lunch instead?"

He shrugged again, and heard a group of students walking pass behind him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one guy wearing a letterman jacket had one part of his backpack not completely zipped closed. No one – except Alvin – noticed Zack reaching inside the backpack and pulling out a bag of popcorn in less than three seconds before the group left.

"Taking a jock-head's snack," Alvin observed. "That's okay, I guess."

Zack smiled cheekily as he ate a few pieces. He glanced back at Susan, who shook her head and playfully rolled her eyes at him. _Hm, she saw that, too._

"Susan Newcastle," Alvin informed his friend, whether he was listening or not. "Former co-captain cheerleader, member of the photography club, school's welcoming committee, and a few other clubs I don't know, has a cool photography blog, family owns a local coffee bar...I _could_ go on, but I get the feeling all of that would fry your sensitive brain."

"I _heard that_, Al," Zack warned, breaking his focus on Susan. "How do you so much about her? Kind of sounds a bit stalk-ish, don't you think?"

Alvin waved dismissively at him. "Being in the yearbook club has its perks. She's also in that club. You should join a club, too," he prompted. "You know, to meet new people and make more friends."

Suddenly a piece of puffed Cheetos hit Alvin's cheek, causing him to flinch. Zack frowned. He looked over across the cafeteria where the wrapper was from and saw a group of guys laughing and high-fiving each other. His brows creased. Jocks and bullies. Typical.

"Or enemies..."

"Don't worry about it," said Alvin. "At least it didn't go in my ear. Plus, I got a free snack. Come here for a sec and check this out."

He switched his seat to Alvin's side. Alvin clicked a link from his laptop –

Then Zack cursed under his breath.

"What?"

"I forgot to tell her my name."

Alvin rolled his eyes. "Forget about Susan right now. I'm sure she'll find out soon, unless someone tells her your name's Bob or Huckleberry Finn, whatever. Just check this out first, okay?"

After Alvin scrolled down and clicked another link, his laptop revealed an article, with the title in bold – ABSTERGO LAUNCHES SATELLITE PROJECT – which discussed about the satellite being recently launched.

"Akashic Satellite Plexus," Alvin summarized from the article, "Abstergo's latest project to help achieve their goal of 'advanced technology for a New World'. It was just launched to the sky a week ago."

Zack creased his eyebrows. He wasn't much of a technology guy. He rarely touched his cell phone. "What are they trying to do? Compete with NASA?"

"Beats me. But don't you think it's kinda weird for them, though? They just decided to announce they had a satellite they've been working on for who-knows-how-long and decided to announce it to the world a week after it was launch. I mean, I think it's pretty cool that they're planning on making a video game entertainment branch later, but what's this satellite supposed to be for?"

"Simply be a collection of communications, weather, and observation satellites."

"How'd you know?"

"It says so on the article." Zack lightly flicked Alvin's forehead. "But I guess you're right – it is kind of weird."

He continued staring at the laptop screen, focusing on Abstergo's triangular logo. It gave him a slight chill whenever he'd see it. It was almost like he had seen it more than a dozen times in a single place somewhere. Sometimes he'd picture it forming into a cross...

A pop-up appeared in the screen. The small window had a large white Abstergo logo before it turned upside down, and the window slowly turned red. The white thin letters E and R appeared below, but Alvin closed the window before it could finish spelling.

"That thing always pops up sometimes," said Alvin as he drank his milk carton, "not sure why, but it doesn't matter. Some kind of scam or random pop-up, maybe. Do you have extra gym shorts by any chance?"

A football sharply hit the back of Alvin's chair, causing him to sputter his milk, which splattered on the front of his shirt and pants and a little on Zack. The milk carton accidentally slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor close to Zack's shoes.

The same group that threw the piece of snack earlier cackled out loud, along with a several other students who witnessed it nearby.

_Enough is enough_.

Zack was already on his feet as his friend insisted him to let it go – he wasn't the forgive-and-forget type. He picked up the football from under his chair.

"Hey!" called one of the jocks who stood up, "I want my ball back."

Zack's eyes narrowed at him. He couldn't tell if the jock was a junior, the same grade as Zack, or a senior. His orange-red hair was so spiked up with hair-gel that it almost looked like his head was on fire, but he was definitely the sort of jock-type from any high school.

The red-head and a few of his friends snickered as Zack kept glaring at him. "C'mon, dude," said the Jock, taking a few steps forward. "What're you, deaf? Give me back my ball."

"Okay."

His fingers tightened around the football. Everything happened almost too fast to process. Instead of handing the football in the jerk's hand or lightly tossing it back, Zack sharply flicked his arm under and the ball shot out of his hand like a torpedo or... a knife... as if he'd done this a million times.

The red-haired jock caught it, but he was startled – the football impacted right above his groin, causing him to staggering back and stifle a painful groan.

Half of the cafeteria went quiet. About a dozen of murmurs filled the surrounding. Oh, great – _attention_. Of course, that was a sarcastic thought. Even Alvin was staring him, confused, cautious, or both. Keeping his eyes low, Zack picked up his messenger bag's handle and started walking away.

"Hey, wait!" Alvin called, but was ignored.

Zack couldn't get himself to glance at Susan, who, no doubt, was probably thinking what he was a freak or something worse than that.

_Deep breaths, count to three each time_, he repeated in his head. _Control your temper, control your temper..._

And this migraine – god damn it! Every time... why did it always happen to him whenever something like this happened?

Zack had to weave through more crowds of students leaving and entering the cafeteria. It was a big school. He found himself now seated on a bench somewhere in the school's indoor courtyard, hopefully away from the crowds.

He pulled out his sketchbook, opened to a blank page, and pressed the tip of his mechanical pencil on the surface.

His mind was blank. Part of him could just impressionistic-like scribbles, but he couldn't think of anything. Lately, he'd been drawing towers with a person on the edge in different poses – almost twenty sheets, both sides, were filled with that concept. He was just less an than inch away from filling up his sketchbook.

Exhaling slowly, Zack put his pencil away and his sketchbook aside, and reached for a different pocket of his backpack.

Before he could take out his meds, Zack was startled by the sudden appearance of the red-haired jerk, who pushed Zack's backpack off the bench and sat on the empty stop next to him.

"Hey, ain't you that new guy that moved to town about a month ago? That was a really good arm back there!" Feigned friendliness – it was obvious. Zack tried to stand up, but Red-head pulled him back down. "What's your name again? Jack? Zeke?"

"It's Zack," he muttered. "What's yours, Dick?"

Red-head replied with a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes and his nose almost seemed to flare a bit for a second. He gave Zack a few pats on the back – a few _hard_ pats – squeezed a shoulder a little tight. "Funny...you're a pretty funny guy, Zeke, just frickin' funny. Say, what's that there?"

Zack knew he should not have fallen for that. His eyes followed Red-head's finger pointing down at his feet, and then Red-head sharply flicked Zack's forehead.

"Aw, sorry about that, man." He didn't bother to stifle his cackle. There were a couple of guys laughing with him nearby – part of Red-head's entourage, no doubt.

Red-head gave a few not-so-soft pats on Zack's side of his face as Zack rubbed his forehead. "You know, your throw from earlier kinda did hurt. You see, I can't get injure right now 'cause, well, I'm pretty important in the school's sports department."

Zack didn't respond to that. He shrugged the guy's arm off his shoulders.

When he didn't say anything for another few seconds, Red-head continued. "But you know what? I'm gonna forgive you for that – for now. And I just realize that my friends and I haven't given you our greetings on your first day here. How rude of us! Let me make it up to you."

Before Zack could react, Red-head and one of his pals grabbed both his ankles and both his arms, and then tilted him back into the large school fountain behind them. He didn't even notice that fountain behind him before. It was almost like a big kiddie pool than an average fountain.

Zack gasped out the fountain water and sat up quickly. Red-head grinned as his friends howled at him, along with a few other students nearby.

Then Red-head noticed Zack's sketchbook, which had been harmlessly lying on the bench. Not a single water drop had hit the cover. He smirked mischievously.

"Welcome to my school, loser!" he said, and snatched sketchbook as Zack started climbing out of the fountain. Then they ran away.

Zack was raging inside. He didn't care how drenched he was from head to toe, or that a couple of students took a few pictures of him with their cell phones.

He ran after them.

Red-head had tossed the sketchbook to one of his three friends. Zack noticed, and chased after the guy only guy wearing a football jersey – Frank...something...that was his name, because he remembered his acne-covered face from one of his classes.

Frank ran up a staircase. Zack had to push his way through several students in his way. It took him less than a minute to catch up to Frank and grab the back of his shirt's collar – however, Frank had already tossed the sketchbook over the rail back to the first floor, and another douche from Red-head's gang caught it.

Why did they have to build this school God-damn big? It was almost like running through a cathedral or a mall.

Zack glared at Frank like a pissed eagle and shoved him to a trash bin as he hurried for the nearest stairwell. He knew he was going to lose sight of his sketchbook soon. Without thinking, he instantly climbed over the rails of the last landing and fell about six feet to the first floor before landing smoothly right on his feet.

Obviously a few students close by gawked at him when he did that. _Why_ did he do that – jumping off the stairs without taking the last dozen steps? He didn't know he could do that. It just felt like an instinct – the fastest way down.

Zack spotted the guy, who was mockingly waving the sketchbook far across from him. The bell rang, indicating that lunch had ended. It would take ten minutes for the second bell to ring for the next class to start. A second later after the bell, students started pouring out of the classrooms or from the cafeteria. They blocked Zack's line of vision, but he knew the guy ran outside to courtyard.

Zack swam through the crowd as fast as he could. He passed by Alvin, who tried to get his attention but failed, and burst through the exit. The sunlight nearly blinded him once he'd stepped out, from the sky and pavement ground. The courtyard was a very wide and open area, almost the size of a football field, and there was an open basketball court to the far side. Zack didn't see his target there...

Wait – _target?_ Since when did he become all tactical? Well, that wasn't something to concern about right now.

After recognizing his face, Zack spotted him jogging across the grass to another school building. He grabbed the jerk by the collar before he could pass through the door. However, before Zack could demand to give the sketchbook back, the guy raised both his empty hands, grinned and looked pass Zack's shoulder.

Red-head gave a false-friendly wave with Zack's sketchbook before running away with the sketchbook to the sports field. When he took a step forward, Zack felt something smooth under his shoe. It was a piece of paper...with _his_ drawings on that paper. _That bastard..._

Cursing under his breath, Zack pursued him. He shoved a few people out of his way, hearing rude responses behind him.

He was actually able to catch up with him under two minutes later. For a supposedly big-hit high school athlete, the guy wasn't very fast. Red-head ran through a group of cheerleaders and dashed between two sideline benches, which he thought would slow down Zack.

Instead of running around them, Zack zipped passed the scattered girls, almost effortlessly leaped over a bench without staggering, and he tackled Red-head to the ground.

He had him pinned down, almost eating the grass, in some kind of grapple. Zack's weight was against Red-head's back, and he locked an arm tightly so he could try reaching for his sketchbook, which Red-head stretched his arm to keep it out of reach.

"Give it back!" Zack demanded, almost feeling like an upset child who had his toy stolen. He almost started to choke Red-head in a headlock as he struggled to keep him down. It wasn't his intention to, but he couldn't help himself from feeling pissed off.

Almost a minute later, someone pulled him off of Red-head, who had been picked up and restrained from charging at Zack by the school's big coach. The vice principal stepped between them. He was obviously upset by the incident.

"What in God's name is going on here?" barked the vice principal, Mr. Jones. He used to work in a private army or security of some sort – at least that was what people had told Zack.

"He stole my sketchbook!" Zack accusingly pointed at Red-head for a moment.

"I did not! He willingly gave it to me."

"He's lying!"

Unfortunately, the objections didn't seem to matter to Jones. He glared at both of the teen boys. "I don't care who's lying or not, or whose fault it is," he retorted. "Both of you have caused a great disturbance on this school ground. You two head straight to the office this instant!"

The coach looked more stunned than Red-head. "But, Mr. Jones, you can't give him detention now," he protested. "There is a big game we're practicing..."

Jones scoffed. "Then you should have made sure your star athlete stayed out of trouble. And you." He turned to Zack, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Romero, isn't it? I had expected _much_ less trouble coming from you, regarding from your, ahem, records. Office, now."

"But my sketch–"

"NOW."

There was no point of arguing any further – or cursing off at Jones, in Zack's case. That would just cause more problems.

Biting his tongue, Zack snatched his sketchbook off the ground as Red-head was steered away to get a lecture from his coach. The vice principal was already walking back to the school building. After dusting off the dirt and grass from the cover, Zack opened it – no... No, _no!_

They trashed his artworks more than he'd expected. A few pages were missing, along with one half torn apart; and some of his best drawings – ruined, with unnecessary marker doodles by those jerks. Most of the doodles were inappropriate to describe.

"Dammit!" Zack forced himself to thrust his sketchbook inside a trashcan after taking out four pages that were still in good condition.

_High school is a _puta, he noted and dragged himself back inside the school to get detention.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! :D Please, give me some support, review, comment, whatever. Just please be nice and positive. I will appreciate it very much.**

**More of Zack's personal info and such will be mentioned along the story, so please be patient with me, because I take A LOT of time on my writing :P I know what I'm doing...sort of.**


	2. Detention

_Author's note: I'm probably not getting many views and such, which doesn't surprise me. But that's not going to stop me. The summary I wrote for this isn't exactly very good to me and I'm sorry if it confused you. I'm not so great at summaries, especially with the character limit FF has, and I'm not completely sure how the story will go. It only makes sense in my head. I got bits of ideas in my mind, which isn't very organized; however, I am doing research, both from the AC world (thank god for Wiki) and reality. I even set up Zack's family tree – or at least I'm trying to._

**Disclaimer: Is it really that necessary for me to include that I don't own anything from the AC franchise on every chapter?**

* * *

TWO – Detention

After receiving his detention schedule, Zack had to gather his belongings from near the indoor fountain. His bag looked untouched, except his bottle of meds was missing.

"This day just gets better and better," he grumbled to himself. How was he going to explain that to his sister? Or explain why he got detention? Well, he knew how and why. . . . He was still innocent here! Even though he put the guy in a chokehold-headlock, whatever, he was still innocent.

Maybe he should reconsider that free therapy session, but he didn't feel like he was making much progress. If another shrink told him he was in denial, then...well, he wasn't sure yet, but he knew he would snap or something.

Zack decided to ditch P.E. class, the first time since his last school. No one bothered to look for him, and hiding in the restroom was easy. He managed to change into dry clothes with his gym uniform – a school hoodie and an extra pair of shorts that Alvin had asked for. At least this school had cleaner stalls. He spent most of his time reading "The Prince" and listening to music. When the bell rang almost an hour later, he left the room and headed to his locker, where he was cornered by Alvin, who had probably wondered what happened to his friend, no doubt.

"Z, why didn't you go to phys ed. class? Word got around fast! Mostly from the cheerleaders' locker room, anyway. I heard you were chasing around a few guys around the whole school like a ninja; and then I also heard you beat down Chris at the football field – which I kinda applaud you. But man...why?"

"Chris? That's Red-head's name?" Zack sighed as he shut his locker door after stuffing his wet clothes inside. He didn't want to do this now, but he had to try being polite somehow. "Alvin...look I don't want to talk about it now. And I didn't exactly beat the guy, okay? I just...well, tried to pin him down until he'd say 'uncle' – but he didn't, so...yeah, that's all."

Alvin started following beside him heading to his next class. "Look, I honestly think the guy deserved it along with his friends, but you got to be careful," he warned. "Chris Durango isn't someone you should cross too often."

"What's so special about Chris Durango?"

"Well, for starters, his dad's the principal."

Well, no wonder why he overheard Chris telling his friends about his one day detention. Zack received almost an entire week, and he didn't even make the guy bleed! Not yet, anyway.

Judging by his friend's face, Alvin understood what he was thinking. "Yeah, very unfair," he said with a nod. "He's, like, the school's football number one player, even though he isn't very good. Also, he used to date Susan."

Zack almost choked on his water that he just drank. "Hum-ah?"

"Yep, they used to date, since freshmen year or a year before, I think. They broke off about a year ago, but I don't know why. Try to ask her if you can."

Hard to believe a girl like Susan dated a dick like Chris, Zack thought.

They parted their ways one minute before the last bell. Zack occupied a desk at the far back corner of his history class. History was okay. There were some interesting old facts, some simple to remember, but sometimes he'd find it...dull. Maybe that wasn't the right word for it, but he wished there was something more to the facts.

Before class started, Zack looked over at the door window next to him and noticed Chris Durango following Susan Newcastle. Just seeing Red-head made him clench a tight fist under the desk. Chris looked like she was trying to talk Susan into something or whatever, but Susan casually brushed him off. That made Zack smiled a bit. He was surprised when Susan stepped under the history room's threshold.

"Seriously, Chris," she said. "Go to class, I mean it."

Zack kept his head low in case Red-head saw him. That failed, because he saw Chris shot a glare at his direction as he left. The glare wasn't very intimidating.

The history teacher, Mrs. Lee, arrived to class last a half-a-minute after the bell rang. Susan approached Mrs. Lee and handed her a piece of paper to sign.

Zack was so distracted from gazing at Susan that it took two calls of his name from the teacher to get his attention. He quickly sat upright and raised his hand shyly.

"You can take the empty seat next to Zack over there, Susan," said Mrs. Lee.

Susan's green eyes glanced at Zack's direction before the teacher pointed the way. Of course, he was the only person here without a partner. Zack pulled his backpack off the unoccupied chair next to him and dropped it to his side.

And nothing happened. Sure, she gave him a small smile, which was quite nice, but neither of them started a conversation once the teacher started the lesson's lecture. She probably saw what happened during lunch, he thought nervously. Most people here already thought he was weird and awkward, even though that news didn't surprise him. If she thought of him as a freak or a weirdo in a bad way, that would be harsh.

About ten minutes before the period would end, the lecture finished, and Mrs. Lee allowed the class free-time to do their homework and such. Everyone started talking in the room after a second it was announced. Only Zack stayed quiet and stayed in his seat, his backpack behind his legs, his chin resting on his forearm. He was drawing on a random page of his notebook, which he used to take notes for this class.

Then a tap on his shoulder startled him, causing him to drawing a crooked scribbled line on the paper. Zack looked up and turned his head at Susan.

She apologized. "I really got stop doing that."

"No, it's okay," Zack mumbled, sitting up sort of straight.

God, that sweet smile always got to him. "So, I heard you sort of took a dip in the school fountain."

He ran his fingers through his curly hair, which was still slightly damped from the fountain. "No I didn't...?"

"You smell like stale chlorine water instead of sweat, since you're in P.E. clothes," she pointed out. "And your socks are still wet."

Well, there was no point of fooling her. "Okay, I sort of fell into the fountain," Zack admitted. "It wasn't my intention, though."

Susan sighed. "Chris dunked you in the fountain, didn't he?" It wasn't exactly a question. She sounded unsurprised by it – only upset or annoyed.

"Does he do that to every new student that comes here?"

"Not all the time. He doesn't bother unless...something made him do it."

Zack slowly averted his eyes from her, looking back at his notebook. She was probably referring to what happened at the cafeteria. At least she didn't see him chase Chris around school.

"I don't blame you for what happened earlier," Susan reassured. "That was a pretty good throw."

Zack pulled a small smile and chuckled lightly. "I...I guess I kinda get a little mad sometimes, even if it's about the little things. It's crazy."

"We all need a bit of craziness sometimes."

They didn't talk for very long, but their conversation was simple and refreshing for Zack. Soon class ended – the end of the day, thank God. Before Susan left, she touched his shoulder when she stood up. "To be honest, I actually do think you are weird." Then she smiled softly and gave a light squeeze on his bicep. "But in a good way."

A good way! She actually thought he was weird, in a _good_ way. At least there was one bright side today.

Now it was time for after-school detention. Yip-pee.

Alvin accompanied Zack to the detention location, which was the library, but his only friend couldn't stay once they stepped through the doors. Vice Principal Jones was already there. Zack took a seat at one of the tables in the middle of the area and tossed in backpack in an empty chair next to him.

He looked like he was in the alone person in the library, apart from Jones and the librarian.

"Um, Mr. Jones?" Jones narrowed his eyes at him, but Zack continued. "Shouldn't the other guy be here?"

"Chris Durango received an alternative, depending on what just happened recently."

Zack thought Jones had a subtle smile. _In other words_, he thought, _I got screwed over while the douche gets some kind of excuse for being a jock. Oh, lucky me!_

Detention was going to last for three hours, according to Jones, who wasn't going to stick around very long. Zack was either going to just sit down where he was the entire time or do some manual labor for Mr. Ford, the friendly, sixty or seventy year-old African-American librarian that almost every student liked. Mr. Ford was kind enough to let him do little work of restocking only twenty books on the shelves and then to take a nap afterwards.

There was still about two hours and forty minutes until detention would end, so a nap sounded like a good idea. That chase made him exhausted, and he hadn't taken his medication yet. Well, it wasn't like he'd missed his daily dose, and he could always asked for a refill if Melinda didn't get upset.

Yawning, Zack rested his head in his arms on the table. Part of him was actually worried about snoring too loud, but it didn't matter, because he fell asleep right away after a second his eyes shut.

00000~~00000

_1524  
Firenze, Italia_

"Marcello, why don't you go with your mother and sister?"

The old man smiled warmly at his son, who sat next to him on the stone bench. If he had stood in front of a mirror that showed images of people several decades younger of themselves, he would be seeing his youngest child – he inherited the same intelligent grey eyes, strong chin, and boyish, charming smile; only the nose and intelligence came from his mother.

Marcello, barely ten years of age yet, swung his short legs. "I want to stay with you, Papa," he said. "The other day, a merchant told me that I should spend more time with you as much as I can because you are old. But I don't think you are _that_ old, though"

His father raised his eyebrows slowly. A few times before, he had been mistaken to be Marcello's grandfather, but that did not bother him so. What bothered him was the time. It was true, he was an old man, and he feared he may not live long enough to his own grandchildren.

He wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, but I am an old man, Marcello. It's like telling a stranger that your age is really twenty, unless . . . Is that a whisker growing under your nose?"

When his father playfully poked his nose, Marcello giggled. "You're silly, Papa. Of course no one would believe I am twenty years old. But...who will finish the story of the hero battling the evil prince when you're gone?"

When his father smiled softly, Marcello noticed the subtle sadness in his eyes. "The story is quite easy to predict, my son, and I have told you and your sister the story many times," he said. "The brave hero defeats the evil prince, hides and protects the powerful magic ball, and goes through his last adventure, where he meets his wife and then has a family – both he loves very much."

"Is that really all that's left of the story?"

So eager to hear more, his thought and chuckled softly. "Well, the hero is now very happy with his retired life, realizing the love and affection from his family kept him truly alive." He watched his son look down at his knees, noticing that "thinking look" – a small scowl, knitted brows, and bunched forehead lines.

Marcello stared up at his father. "Is that story about you, Papa?" he responded curiously. "_Zia_ Claudia said that story sounded like you during your younger days."

He rubbed his old chest gingerly. "_Forse_, she could be right. There is a truth behind every story. . . . Someday, I will explain it to you, when you are older. But for now, always remember this." With all his strength, he lifted up his youngest child and carefully placed him on his lap, like he used to when his children were much little. _They grow up so fast_... "Whatever happens to me, whenever you feel lost," he said, "I will _always_ be by your side. In here – " He pointed at Marcello's chest, where his heart should be " – you will always find your way to the bright ember when you know I am with you – _capito?_"

For a moment, Marcello had a confused expression, which his father chuckled lightly at, and he nodded. "_Si_, I...I think so," he answered slowly. Then he smiled brightly at his old and kindly father, and hugged him carefully. "_Grazie_, Papa."

The old man hugged back tightly before helping his son back on the bench. "Now, go help your mother and sister at the market, Marcello. You should spend time with them, as well."

"Okay, I will. I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, my son. I will try to stay around as long as I can, for you and Flavia and your mother."

"Promise?" Marcello asked curiously.

His father nodded and gave him that warm and soft smile. "_Si_, I promise."

After one last hug, Marcello jumped off the stone bench and started heading to his mother and sister. Along the way, he barely missed colliding with another body. He quietly and quickly apologized to the young man, who just silently frowned and stared at the boy with an arched brow and sat down on the same spot beside his father. It was as if nothing had happened.

He couldn't stare at the young man any longer when his sister called his name: "Marcello! Come look at this mask I found."

Before going to his mother and sister, Marcello took one last look at his father. Pa-pa looks tired, he observed. Maybe he should have stayed in the villa, like Mother insisted.

"Can I try on that mask, Flavia?" he asked his older sister. Flavia gave him the white delicate mask, and he held it in front of his face.

Through the eye-holes, Marcello noticed how odd the stranger looked. The young man had beady and narrowed dark eyes, brushy strong eyebrows, a bowl-shaped haircut, and a long scar on his face. Unlike his father's small scar, the stranger's scar extended from the corner of his lip as if he had a smirk or grin. He looked like he was trying to have a conversation with the old man.

"Let's show the mask to Mother now. I want to know if she will let me have it." Flavia took the mask from her brother and skipped over to their mother to do as she'd said.

Their mother walked over to them while holding a basket full of vegetables. Then Marcello turned away to distract himself at another stand, which stocked wooden toys and weapons. He examined the harmless, wooden toy sword. He hoped his father would teach him a bit of swordplay someday, just like the hero from the story.

Then the creeping chill ran up in his arms.

"Ezio!"

Marcello turned and found pieces of the white mask scattered on the ground with vegetables from his mother's basket.

It was his mother who had called her husband's name, but was given no response. Citizens nearby began to gather around the courtyard, disturbed and alerted. He watched Flavia and their mother rushing to Papa.

_I will try to stay around as long as I can..._

But there he was, lifeless on the hard, stone bench.

His legs were heavy. He couldn't hear anything, and his nerves numbed. Everything felt dark and ten times colder.

Pushing through the crowd, he called out to his father and hoped the sound of his family's voices would wake him up. _He promised...he made a promise..._

But that promise died along with him.

00000~~00000

Zack woke up on his own this time, feeling sort of dazed at first.

He reminded where he was – detention in the library, for three hours. He should have been napping for almost that long by then. However, looking at the wall clock, he noticed only a half an hour passed by already since he fell asleep. It felt much longer than that.

Mr. Ford approached Zack and tapped a few times on his table lightly to get his attention. "There's a young lady here to help you break out of prison," he informed. "She said she's your older sister."

Zack managed a small chuckle from that prison joke. "That would be Melinda, my sister. Thanks, Mr. Ford."

The librarian smiled warmly and patted Zack's shoulder. "No problem, son, anytime," he said. "I can tell you're no troublemaker. Oh, can you do me one favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

Zack followed Mr. Ford behind the counter and stood by the doorway of the backroom as he waited for Mr. Ford to retrieve package behind his desk. It was a parcel box, not too big to fit in his bag, and it had a thick manila envelope tied on top with two yarns.

"Can you help me deliver this package when you have the time?" Mr. Ford offered. "It needs to be at this local shop before the end of the month. I'll write down the address for you. Sometimes I end up forgetting things, and I'm actually going to be quite busy with something for the next few weeks. Can I trust you to do that for me?"

Zack wondered if this package was important; otherwise, there could be a slim chance to trust him with it. He never thought anyone could trust him with anything, important or not.

After Mr. Ford gave him the package and a sticky-note with the written address, Zack carefully stuffed the package in his bag and walked out of the library.

* * *

**Forgive me if this chapter is short for you! I usually write about more than 5 to 7 pages. I'm actually working on other stories and such. Mostly I'm just very tired due to lack of sleep.**

**I'd seriously like to have more reviews and people reading this. I guess it's because it's rated M even though it only has swear words and graphic violence (in the future), or most people these days don't like to read fanfics with OCs... Well, I'm not sure, but whatever. :P**

_12/09/2013 update: But now I changed it to Rated T! Why? Because not many people are reading it! Still doesn't matter. Not many people are reading my stories, anyway, even though I actually am trying to do my best with grammar and such. No offence, but you guys kinda suck, because I don't know what you people want to read these days! Sorry, I'm feeling sort of bitter right now._


	3. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE:_**

The story's going to be on hold since not many people are reading it, or my other story really. I might end up deleting it later, though. Sorry, but it seems pointless to me to leave a story that people won't bother to read or support my story. It's such a waste, and I actually even worked hard to plan this story carefully, or at least I was trying to. I even had to change this story from rated M to rated T because I sort of suspected not many people will read something from the rated M category, even though it would mostly have offensive languages and bloody violence.

Well, whatever. Feel free to try convincing me not to stop or delete this story, but I don't think anyone would to do that for me.


End file.
